Way Beyond the Blue
by jaibhagwan
Summary: "She was beautiful even when she was a miserable wreck. But it was her sadness that always undid him."
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I know, _I know_. But this one is finished I swear! -jb

DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. But I sure love 'em to death. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original plot is the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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 _If you don't bear the cross, then you can't wear the crown  
Way beyond the blue _ —Traditional Spiritual

 **Chapter 1**

On the dreary ride back to Alexandria, Daryl kept her close, pulled against his chest, locked in his embrace. The cold knot that had grown in his belly since earlier that morning kept turning. Something was wrong. Even with his arm wrapped protectively around her, Carol was still shaking as she leaned against him in the back seat with her head on his shoulder. After he'd followed her trail and found her with Maggie in the old slaughterhouse—pale as the dead and glassy-eyed from shock—he'd tried to get her to talk about it. There had been something ominous caught beyond the blue of her eyes as he lifted her chin, blocking out the light. But Carol could barely tell him that she wasn't alright, and there had been too much going on around them to press her for more details. He had to consider their safety. In addition, Rick had insisted that they go back to the Saviors' compound and complete a walk through to gather weapons and supplies. Cleaving to her, there had barely been time for Daryl to console Carol and keep her from unraveling. He'd taken her outside for some fresh air and made her drink from his canteen while Abe, Rosita, and Rick had made sure the building was secure and there had been no survivors.

Now there were too many others watching. Daryl knew he would have to get her alone for her to finally open up to him. He just needed to be patient.

But when they finally got back behind the wall, Daryl discovered there was yet another barrier between them. A crowd of townsfolk had gathered to greet them as they pulled inside and came to a stop. Carol quickly sat up, and Daryl followed her eyes to the tall man in the plaid shirt who was grinning from the back of the crowd. Her face twitched as she steeled her face into a mask, the corners of her lips turned up into an almost smile. A harrowing sadness was still muting her eyes, but she brightened, some color returning to her cheeks. It was the closest she appeared to looking happy these days.

His stomach convulsed and grew tighter. Getting out of the truck, he turned back towards her to offer his hand as she stepped down. "Thank you," she said sincerely, meeting his eyes with her troubled blue ones, her fake smile fading as quickly as it had risen. Briefly, he saw the pained look lingering on her face, the one that she wore when he'd found her—the one that haunted him—before she straightened her spine and donned the steel mask once again. Too soon, she let go of his hand and was pulling away from him. The hairs on his neck bristled as he felt a chill pass through his arm. Daryl stood at the truck, following her with his eyes as she walked to the back of the crowd and right up to the man in the plaid shirt. _Tobin_ , Daryl recalled. The man pulled Carol into a tight embrace, burying his face in her neck, and Daryl felt his heart seize in his chest and make a hard drop to his feet as his breath was forcibly ripped from his lungs. When she pulled back, Tobin leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

She was kissing _him_.

Daryl grabbed the door of the truck to steady himself as the ground beneath him shifted, nearly knocking him to his knees as his entire reality imploded. Without air, the hollow space in his chest burned and constricted, strangling every last drop of hope from his withering frame. Growing dizzy, he leaned forward to try to breathe. It was worse than feeling trapped. Worse than the fear of dying. It was unthinkable, and it was happening.

Gasping for air, he watched as they walked away together holding hands, unable to stop himself, only dragging his eyes away when they ascended the porch steps of Tobin's house and disappeared inside. Daryl stood there stupefied, in utter disbelief, cursing his eyes for their deception.

His stomach kept turning and twisting with a vile bitterness that made him queasy as it rose in his throat. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and neck and slithered down his shirt, making his skin feel cool and clammy. He hadn't slept all night, but now his body trembled with this strange and uncomfortable energy. Absently leaning away, he spat the unpleasant taste on the ground. Too many thoughts, unwelcomed images crowded his mind making him dizzy. Shaking his head, he slammed the door shut and headed into the opened garage, half in a daze, angrily tossing his bag into a dusty corner before striding in front of the heavy bag hanging from the rafters. His fingers curled into his sweating palms until his knuckles grew rigid and white. Raising both fists, he jabbed one into the bag, hitting it hard. The bag responded with a jingle as the chains rattled. He hit the bag again and again. _Jab, cross, jab_. _Jab, jab, hook._ The rhythm of his punches carried him away from his fears. _Jab, cross, hook._ The punches themselves were satisfying something primitive that was heatedly twisting and devouring the space inside him. He focused on the force of the blows on his knuckles, the rattle of the chain, the breath that was coming more rapidly the harder he hit. _Jab, jab, jab, cross, jab, hook, upper cut, cross, jab, jab, cross, jab, jab, jab, Jab, JAB._

"Fuck!" When he'd had enough, he gave the bag a final side kick before moving to the spot in the corner where he'd tossed his pack, digging around in one of the pockets until he pulled out his canteen. He took several swigs before collapsing into a seated position against the wall. His breath was heavy and deep.

"I feel sorry for the bag."

Daryl looked up to see Denise lingering in the open doorway, hands in her pockets. He grunted his reply.

"That bad, huh?" She moved slowly towards him when he didn't respond. "You didn't wrap them. Let me look," she indicated towards his bruised hands.

Sullenly, he turned his hands towards her, knuckles facing out, to show her. The skin had cracked and they were slightly bloody. He drew back his other fingers towards his palm until only his middle fingers remained raised defiantly.

Denise scowled at him. "I think you'll live." Then more gently as she sat across from him, "Wanna talk about it?" She raised her eyebrow in hopeful expectation.

He glared at her, his face stern and forbidding as it flashed in warning, gradually softening at the edges as he recognized from her demeanor that she was just trying to help. It was hopeless though; he knew nothing could help. There was nothing he could do. Not now. Biting his lip, he refused to divulge his weakness, so he looked away.

They sat in silence for a moment as Denise waited for him to respond. When she realized he wasn't going to share his thoughts, she moved on. "Did Tara and Heath…?"

He nodded, letting her know they had made it out safely so she wouldn't worry about Tara. The two of them had practically been joined at the hip since his group had arrived in Alexandria a few months ago.

"That's good," she said, sighing with relief. She pulled at the loose thread on her jeans as she contemplated her thoughts. "Did everything go alright?"

It went as well as slaughtering people could go, he thought. That is, until Carol and Maggie got kidnapped. He shrugged, trying not to think about it. They were alive, but something had happened to them. As his worries about Carol returned, he grew restless again, scratching at the spot behind his ear in attempt to expel them.

"I was waiting for you when you got back. You know, in case anyone was hurt or... I—" Denise cleared her throat. "I saw Carol... That's rough," she consoled him. "How come you haven't said anything? To her, I mean. About how you feel."

Daryl scowled at her prying, wondering how she knew.

"Tara," Denise explained, easily reading him. "But it's also kind of obvious."

He scoffed in disbelief.

"Well, okay, maybe not to her. Which brings me back to my question, by the way. Why haven't you told her?"

Daryl looked down at his hands and shrugged as his feelings of inadequacy encroached and perched stiffly in his spine.

"It's hard, I know. Believe me," she said, lifting the fingers of her hand from her lap like she was swearing an oath. "But what's stopping you?"

He picked at the loose skin on his knuckles wondering how could he respond to such a loaded question.

"So, you can be brave when it comes to killing people, but telling them how you really feel…?" She frowned as he turned away. "Why are you so scared? You know it's not too late, don't you?"

He looked up at her with doubt in his eyes.

"It's not," Denise insisted.

When he didn't respond, she patted him on the arm. "Good talk."

 _It's not too late._ Her words lingered after she left and stayed with him through the night as he tossed and turned in his bed. He wanted them to be true.

Last week, when Abraham had asked him if he had been thinking of settling down, he blew the question off. Nothing in Daryl's life had ever been stable. Things always had a way of falling apart. Even now, their situation was uncertain. Who knew how long the walls would hold before someone else would come barrelling through them in another tank to take what they had? Hell, that semi-trailer almost did.

But even if shit wasn't settled, Carol had always been his touchstone; his constant. She was the one true thing he ever had in his life that he could rely on. It was only recently that she had decided to be with someone else. Maybe Denise was right, maybe Carol didn't know how he felt. After all, he'd never given her the slightest indication that he was ready for anything else.

It was only just recently that Daryl had begun to realize how much he had wanted to be with Carol. Their separation after the prison had taught him that much. At one time, maybe he had a shot, there had been plenty of chances, but he'd done what Dixons did best and squandered every one being a dumbass. He was too damn scared he'd get burned if he'd pulled that trigger. Too afraid to change what they had. But things had changed anyway, leaving Daryl as uncertain as ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The next morning, he was working on the motorcycle he had unloaded from the back of the truck when he saw Carol outside on the porch swing, smoking. _When had that started?_ he asked himself, pausing for a moment to reflect on this woman he seemed to know so little about. It wasn't like her. He turned back to his task, pulling out the rag from his back pocket. Wiping down the extra grease from the bike's chrome, he buried himself in his work. It was better if he just forgot about it. Stopped worrying about her. She was with Tobin now.

His stomach roiled, twisting into the familiar knot. Forget about her. Right. Like it was that easy. The problem was he couldn't forget her. She had crawled her way inside, past every obstacle he had thrown at her, and buried herself in the boarded up void in his heart. She was already too much a part of him, like his own skin, and it had been that way for some time now; he couldn't let go—he didn't want to. It wasn't clear to him when exactly it had happened, but he was becoming more certain of how he felt. Tobin or not, Daryl knew he loved Carol, and if she was happy, he would leave her alone.

But the thing of it was, she hadn't looked happy. Not for a long time. Not since the prison. In fact, she looked miserable. Her smoking was only one of many signs. Whatever battle had been raging in her head for the past few months, she was losing it. She was giving up.

He knew he needed to say something to her, but how?

Sitting on the concrete step of the walkway, his eyes fell on the small black saddle bag that hadn't been there before. Curious, he gave it a tug, undoing the velcro straps, and unzipped it. Rooting around inside, his fingers slid against a small, wooden object. He pulled it out to examine it: a toy soldier, slightly bigger than the army men he used to play with as a kid. The ones that Merle had given him before he had taken off, when Daryl was having trouble with some of the neighborhood kids.

"You play at being a little man, but one day you'll be up an' grown like me. The hairs on your balls will prove it. Then you'll find out what you're made of," Merle had told him. "Be a good soldier while I'm gone. Give 'em hell, kid. And remember, nothin' keeps a Dixon down but a Dixon."

Daryl knew he was his worst enemy, always second guessing himself and taking the easy way out of all his problems by avoiding them. At least that's what that book he'd found in Atlanta had suggested. The childhood memory faded away while another resurfaced just as quickly.

 _You were a kid before. Now, you're a man._

Carol's words echoed over and over in his head like a call to action. It was time to do things differently.

All along, it was Carol that helped him realize what he was made of, what kind of man he wanted to be. But just now, he understood that in order to truly be that man, he had to speak up to be the man that Carol needed. A man of honor. Standing up and shoving the army man in his pocket, he walked over to her.

"Hey," he called to her as he approached the front porch.

She turned her head when she heard his voice and gave him an unaffected glance that made it hard to read what kind of mood she was in. But she was smoking, so he knew she was worried about something.

"You got another one o' those?" He nodded his head, indicating the cigarette she held tightly between her fingers.

She looked down at the cigarette and flicked the ash away. "What, no lecture?"

"Pfft," he replied. "That'd really work?"

She shrugged and handed him a cigarette. In her other hand, she held a beaded necklace he got a quick glance at before she curled her fingers over it into a fist.

He thanked her, ignoring whatever it was she was hiding from him, having the good sense not to start prying prematurely. "Walk with me?" he asked, putting the cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

"Where to?"

"Dunno. Just around." He eyed her through the smoke he blew out. She never used to question him.

"I guess," she agreed reluctantly, standing up and shoving the beads into her pocket. Then, she hesitated. "Why?"

He bristled at her defensiveness, shooting her a hard stare. It wasn't something he was used to, not from her. It was worse than he thought. Sighing, he forced himself to release the tension in his shoulders, letting them relax. Soften. It wasn't going to help her if he hardened himself, too. Shrugging it off, he instead offered, "See you alone a lot these days. Used to be a time when I couldn't even get your attention you were so busy."

"I always made time for you," she argued, walking down the steps towards him.

He nodded at her. "Know you did." He felt an ache burning a hole inside his chest as he thought about all the times she had sought him out just to say hello when they were at the prison. Times he took for granted apparently. God, he missed her. "Listen, I don't wanna argue. Jus' wanna...talk."

"Since when?" She looked at him with suspicion in her eyes.

"Since you saved us. After I thought I'd lost you." He watched her avert her eyes, cross her arms in front of her chest at his confession. "You avoidin' me or somethin'?"

She looked back at him with steel in her eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"Dunno, but I expect it's got somethin' to do with what's been rattlin' around that head o' yours."

For a moment, he saw something flash in her eyes, revealing a spark of who she had been before. She looked frightened simply by being noticed.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," she said nervously, turning away from him.

He reached out to touch her shoulder before she could slip away. "Hey," he said softly, looking into her eyes to reassure her. "It's me." He felt her trembling beneath his hand. "It's just me."

"Daryl." She uttered his name so quietly, it was almost a whisper.

The tender sound of her voice saying his name loosened the knot in his gut. Somehow, it always put him at ease the way she made him feel seen. And it was as if by some divine force that the foggy facade looming in her eyes suddenly lifted and cleared, and she was looking upon him with those delicate blue eyes that had once shattered his own armor with their kindness, and he knew she was still Carol in there. There was still something fragile about her that needed his protection. He wrapped his eyes around her, holding her with his gaze. For a moment, he felt closer to her than he ever had before. It sent a chill up his spine, and he stood taller.

"There you are," he declared, giving her a satisfied smirk.

She smiled back. A genuine smile; not one of those plastic ones she usually had pasted on these days. It stole the breath from his body, and he nearly staggered backwards in surprise. "Whoa," he gasped, unprepared for the light feeling that rose upwards in his body and made him a little dizzy. "Been a while," he began once he recovered a little, "since I've seen one of those."

Carol drew her brow together in confusion. "One of what?"

"That knockout smile you got." Daryl felt his face grow warm and tried to ignore it.

She pressed her lips together, drawing them in to hide her teeth.

"Too late," he teased her, gently elbowing her arm. "Damage's done."

Her reaction bolstered his confidence, and they walked side by side for several steps, smoking in a comfortable silence, before he couldn't help himself. "Does he make you smile like that?"

Carol briefly faltered in her step as his question registered. "Who? Tobin?" she asked, recovering quickly.

Daryl nodded, momentarily uncertain if there was another 'he' he should be worried about.

"I don't know. I guess. Sometimes."

With his stomach contracting again, he gave another hesitant nod, glad to hear it and simultaneously wishing for another answer that would make this easier somehow. He took a drag from his cigarette, trying to find the confidence to continue. "That's good," he said, exhaling. They walked a few more paces, but the silence had grown a bit more awkward as he let that information settle inside him. "I didn't realize you two were so...close."

"Daryl," she said with a pleading tone.

"Nah, it's okay," he shrugged off her concern, doing his best to accept the fact. "Jus' thought you woulda said somethin' sooner is all."

"It's a...recent development."

"Yeah?" He tried to let that fact bring him some comfort, but it didn't work.

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

"We've been talking a lot since we arrived in Alexandria."

"Since then, huh?"

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

"Well, I guess it's good you've been talkin' to somebody."

"Daryl." Her voice hit a tender note, trying to appease him.

"Nah, it is." He shook his head and took another drag, trying not to notice how hurt he felt. "You need that."

She stopped walking, turning to face him, insisting that he look at her. "Daryl."

Ignoring her concern, he pushed through his pain as he obliged, searching her eyes for the truth. "He good to you?" He knew she could take care of herself now, but still, he needed to know. It was the whole point of subjecting himself to this—torture.

Taking a step back, she tilted her head, squinting at him, her eyes growing watery as she understood the heart of his question. Her breath quivering as she sighed. "Yes." She nodded slowly to stress the truth.

"Good." Daryl felt himself relax despite the fact that the news unsettled him. It was a strange sensation. He watched as Carol's crystalline eyes shimmered and gleamed with appreciation for his understandable concern, until the intensity of her gaze was too much to bear.

The late summer air sagged around them as he turned away from her, continuing their stroll towards the row of empty houses in a solemn silence. Daryl tried not to think about the other man, who could give Carol what he obviously couldn't.

"It's just...it's easy with him," she explained after a while, taking a few quick strides to catch up with him, wiping her eyes with the backs of her wrists.

"Hmm." Feeling his temperature rise, Daryl glanced at her, hating himself for being so difficult. So aloof. He never did measure up, especially when it came to dealing with people. Annoyed, he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, wondering what else she saw in the man. Daryl didn't know much about him other than the guy liked to wear plaid shirts and knew how to hammer a nail. Tobin was different than that louse she had called a husband. Decent. Still, after what had happened on the construction site when they first got to Alexandria, Daryl pegged him for a coward, too. A lot had happened since then, including the training that they had given to all the residents, but Tobin never volunteered for the hard stuff.

"You trust him?" Daryl finally asked, addressing his concern as quickly as he could. Better to rip the Band-Aid off.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess. As much as I trust anyone."

He hummed again, thinking. Maybe she never trusted him as much as he thought she did. Maybe he had been fooling himself, thinking he knew her all this time. His growing doubt prickled heatedly along his skin as he bristled with irritation.

"You sure he can take care o' you?"

She halted her step. "I can take care of myself."

"Know that," he said, stopping beside her, but his body stayed animated as he began to gesticulate emphatically with his hands. "Still, don't hurt to have someone lookin' out. 'Stead of havin' to look over your shoulder all the damn time, keepin' an eye on him." He pointed his finger accusingly behind them. "You think he'd watch your back?"

"I don't know. Haven't really thought of that."

"Hmm."

"Don't," she warned him, shooting him an icy glare.

Daryl feigned innocence, holding up his hands. "I jus' wanna know you're okay." His voice was louder than it needed to be. "'Cause you told me you weren't."

The anger melted from her face as quickly as it arrived. In it's place was the anguished look he'd seen yesterday. And too many days before then. He was instantly flooded with guilt.

"Daryl," she said, tilting her head. "I know you think he's...soft. He is soft, in a way. But I think maybe I need that right now. To remind me that I'm not...just… He helps me..."

She looked haunted as she drifted off, lost in her thoughts, nervously taking a drag from the cigarette. Daryl could see that it wasn't just about whatever distraction or release she was finding with the other man. It went deeper than that.

"Hey," he said, filling the silence to avoid his own thoughts about what had occurred between the two. He was eager to catch her attention again, but equally desperate to change the subject and figure out what was really going on with her. "The ones that took you an' Maggie. What'd they do to you?"

Her eyes turned to blue steel again. "To us? _They_ didn't do anything."

Daryl watched her intently, feeling the space between them stiffen and expand.

"The things I've done, I—I…"

She started to shake and before he could reach out to her, she put the cigarette to her lips and drew in a deep breath.

"Wait, is this about what happened at the prison?" he asked. "And after?"

"No," she denied too quickly, looking down at her hands that she was wringing and twisting.

He didn't believe her, and the look he gave her said as much."'Cause that shit's over! _Forgotten._ "

"But I haven't forgotten! It's a part of me now."

"Only if you let it."

She shook her head, and the sorrow filling her eyes wrung out the pigment, strangling them to a miserable and listless gray. "It's more than that. What we did... What _I_ did… It's—" She looked down, her head drooping as if drawn by the gravity of her unspoken words. She was full of secrets now—and darkness, clearly burdened to the point of overwhelm, yet resolved on carrying it alone like some sort of penance. She had been unable to tell him what occurred before they reunited. Whatever horrible thing had happened to those girls, it had robbed Carol of her peace of mind. It had scarred her. And yet the wound was continuing to fester and transmute. She was building walls now instead of bridges, but Daryl could still see the cracks in her facade. She put the cigarette to her lips again and inhaled deeply. "It's more than that."

Daryl softened, realizing how harsh his voice had gotten in his frustration. She was being hard enough on herself; he didn't need to add to it. "Don't know what it is you're thinkin', but whatever it is you're wrong. You ain't, you know. Stone cold? Or whatever it is you think you gotta be." He watched the water in her eyes rise to the brim. "That's what you think, right? Don't care what you did. There's more to you than that. Hell, Carol, you fuckin' saved us! You're a hell of a lot more than that. To all of us, to—me... goddammit, you're"—even when he needed them most, the words failed him—"more than that."

"But I don't feel that way!" She turned away from him. "And I just needed to feel something else for a while."

The coldness of her distance cut into him, but Daryl nodded, resigning himself to the fact that Carol had made this choice; she had chosen to be with Tobin. And he had to respect her decision, because it was what she needed. Still, it twisted inside him, making him tense. Confused. He could feel her slipping away.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" His voice quivered with the rawness of his emotions, but he pressed on. "Why won't you jus' tell me what you're goin' through so I can help you?"

She spun around and tossed the truth at his feet. "You can't help me!"

Her words stung him, sparking his anger. He stood there, stunned from the blow, until the heat from the burn pushed him to move. Pacing at the end of the cul de sac, he tried to keep himself under control until he erupted, firing a series of heated questions at her.

"You really think he can give you what you need?"

She put her hand on her hip, facing him directly. "I think he wants to try."

"Do you love him?"

Carol sighed tensely. "I don't know."

"You happy?"

"Do any of us get to be happy any more?"

It was infuriating to him how she wasn't answering his questions. Not really. He needed her to be certain, or he might just—

He felt himself tipping forward, on the brink of some desperate action. His voice dropped into a protective growl.

"You deserve to be."

His heart thrummed in his chest as he took a step closer, reaching selfishly towards her. But before his fingers could make contact, she was shifting uneasily at his words and turning away from him. Just out of his reach.

Folding her arms across her chest, she shrugged. "I'm trying." She stared distantly down the empty street, pondering his words as if Alexandria held an answer for whatever question was still weighing heavily on her mind. Her shoulders sagged under the strain of it.

"You said we get to start over. Tobin… he didn't know me...before. Who I was…" She turned back, eying Daryl worriedly over her shoulder. "I don't want him to."

Daryl hesitated, chewing on his lip, feeling himself deflate. It wasn't at all what he expected. When he told her they could start over, he'd meant with each other. It was only just becoming evident to him that he hadn't been crystal clear with her. But his failure was obvious: it was too late.

She was trying; he could tell that much. Notwithstanding her struggle, he found a modicum of solace in her efforting. And while her decision pained him, he knew he needed to support her if he truly wanted her to be happy. It was something he'd wanted for a long time now. That—and for her to stay with them.

It could be enough for him just to know she was alive—and well, Daryl figured. He'd had so little in his life, and she had given him so much. Wherever she was, it was home.

He was doubtful that shit was settled, but Abe, Rick, and Tara were all bedding down, putting down roots. Settling despite the odds against them. Hell, Maggie and Glenn were expecting a baby. He wanted Carol to have hope again. Maybe things could get better if she gave them a chance.

"Rick an' Michonne seem content. If they can be..." he trailed off as his throat grew tight with regret. Maybe shit wasn't quite settled yet. Maybe it never would be. But if Carol had a chance to be happy, he wanted her to have it. He needed her to be, even if it was with someone else.

Glancing down at the cigarette he was fiddling with between his fingers, he cleared his throat. "Jus' keep tryin'."

She nodded, inhaling from the cigarette one last time before tossing it to the ground and stamping out the lit end with her boot.

Even after the smoke around her dissipated, Daryl could see the gloom still billowing in her eyes. It pulled at his chest, and he felt himself drawn to her even more strongly, wanting to rid her eyes of the darkness that clung there. He stepped forward and then back in an awkward dance of uncertainty as she bent down to pick up the cigarette butt from the ground; moving toward her as she stood and quickly pivoted on her heel, he reached for her again to stop her from leaving, but then stalled. His hand hung tentatively in deliberation, longing to connect and pull her out from behind the veil, to put that spark back in her eyes. But whatever it was between them had broken and he knew he couldn't fix it. She knew it too and had tried to tell him; there was nothing he could do. Nothing that could help anyway. Resigned, he slowly drew his fingers into his palm and backed up before he did something he knew he would regret. But the regret followed him anyway when he finally walked away in the other direction, scratching at his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He was pacing in front of the garage, ruminating about how he had let her get away when Denise found him again. She was with Rosita, who looked pissed off to be there.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something, are you busy?" Denise asked.

"I look it?" he growled, half annoyed, half grateful for the distraction.

"You could just say 'no' like a normal person," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Unless you're trying to wear down the pavement?"

"You got somethin' to say?"

"Yeah, I need your help. I have an idea."

She had the run to the apothecary all planned out. Maybe she was bored with Tara being gone and was just looking for a thrill. Regardless, she was stubbornly determined to tag along like it was some rite of passage. The woman was naive and crazy to boot. But he wasn't about to let her go by herself, and Rosita was being a total bitch about the whole thing. He didn't blame her though. When Abe mentioned he was thinking about settling down, Daryl thought he meant with Rosita. But that asshole just wanted to be free to bang other chicks, and kicked her ass to the curb. It reminded Daryl of something Merle would have done. He held sympathy for her, understanding how it felt to be the odd man out. To be unloved and alone.

Shit, he needed this run. At this point, he would have done anything to take his mind off Carol, so he could figure out a way to move on. Like she had. But how was he supposed to do that? Whenever he closed his eyes, those unforgettable blue ones were waiting for him, burned into his mind like a flashbulb memory. Vivid and haunting.

Even driving the truck, he was still so distracted he kept forgetting to hold the clutch in while he shifted. Meanwhile, Denise was giving him a lecture about it as if he didn't know how to drive stick. It was getting on his nerves.

"My brother taught me, so I just know," she rambled on.

 _Well, so did mine,_ Daryl griped to himself. Merle had handed him a set of keys when he was barely twelve years old just so he could have a designated driver. Daryl let the gears grind and squeak just to annoy her, hoping she'd shut the hell up. He stared at her in a non-verbal challenge, wondering how long she could take it. But before he could test her limits, Rosita was alerting him to a tree in the road, and he slowed down to a stop. He barked at Denise to stay in the truck while he checked it out with Rosita.

While inspecting the roadblock, Rosita found a walker with a stash of mini bottles of booze. It might have been the best thing about this trip, since there was no way to get around the tree. They had to go the rest of the way on foot, splitting up because he wasn't about to take anymore train tracks to hell. Rosita took the shortcut, but Denise followed him. He wasn't sure why, until she started to hound him.

"I get that you're angry. But you don't have to take it out on me. I'm not your punching bag."

She was right; he was being an asshole. He was just so frustrated and despite his attempts to change, his old habits were tough to break. They were ingrained at the cellular level; it was in his genes.

"Sorry," he simply said, letting some of the acid go from his voice. But he kept his stride, refusing to slow down. It was supposed to be just an in and out trip. _Quick run, my ass. Ain't no such thing._

"Don't you ever get tired of being angry? I mean, I get that there's a lot of reasons to be. But doesn't it just get in the way?"

"You tryin' to shrink my head?"

"I'm just trying to understand why someone as brave as you can't take risks."

"Well, quit. Ain't nothin' to understand. You got no business bein' out here an' even less inside my head."

"Listen," she said, her voice calm. "I get that I don't have as much experience as you and Rosita. But I have a right to try, just like everyone else. See, I have to do this. For me! And you have no right telling me what I can do."

"Suit yourself. But if somethin' happens, that's on you."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take. I need to know for myself if I can do this. But you, you're not even trying! You think she was just gonna wait around forever for you to get a clue and find your—your balls?"

"Fuck, I don't need this," Daryl spat, picking up his pace and leaving her in his dust.

"You can rage against the world all you want, but if you ever want things to be different, you have to make them that way!" she called out behind him, refusing to give him the last word.

 _Fuckin' shrinks._ It was insufferable how perceptive she was. The truth burned a hole in his stomach and filled him with dread. But it wasn't Denise he was really pissed at; he was mad at himself more than anything. So, he marched on at a punishing pace. By the time they caught up with Rosita, he was out of breath. And surprisingly, it sort of helped.

When they got to Edison's Apothecary, some of his anger had been defused, but he gave Denise orders like he was used to being in charge. After all, it was his job to keep her safe. And fortunately, she had been right. The small pharmacy was locked up tight; it was a windfall of pharmaceuticals. He grabbed the prenatal vitamins first, knowing Maggie needed them, and then loaded up his bag alongside Rosita. Before long, they heard a thumping coming from the back room.

"It's just one," Rosita figured.

"Sounds like it's stuck," he said, quickly losing interest, and they went back to looting the place.

It was the sudden shattering of glass that startled both of them. He looked up and saw Denise's panicked face.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Rosita.

"Nothing," Denise said sadly, walking out the front door.

He looked at Rosita, knowing whatever it was that spooked Denise, it wasn't good. When they finished grabbing all the pills, they left. Daryl was eager to get back. Denise was sitting outside on the sidewalk. It was obvious she was crying, and he felt guilty for being such a jerk to her. It took guts to come out with them, for trying, and he gave her credit for it being her first time.

"Hey," he called out to get her attention.

She turned to face them, boldly showing them her tears.

"You did good findin' this place," he reassured her.

She nodded and stood.

"Tried to tell you you weren't ready," Rosita said sympathetically. "We both did."

"I know," said Denise.

Daryl gave her a nod of approval for getting through it. Truth was, you were never ready for some horrors. Like standing in front of an old barn, watching a little girl in a dirty blue t-shirt stagger out with lifeless eyes, snarling viciously like a monster and getting put down like one, after promising her mama that she'd be found safe and sound. Like seeing your own flesh and blood munching enthusiastically on a entree of bloody intestines. Yeah, he'd grown callous from the things he'd seen. But even now, if he was really being honest with himself, there were things that could still split him to the core. Like finding that tortured woman with the W carved into her forehead, entrails all ripped out, hanging naked from a tree. Daryl shivered. There was no way to prepare for some of the crap they faced. One moment they're alive and happy to see you, the next snuffed out too soon with a shot to the head. Shit happened.

* * *

On the way back, Denise showed him the keychain with the name "Dennis" on it that she picked up in the apothecary, and she started talking about her twin brother. Still feeling bad about the way he treated her earlier, Daryl asked her questions, hoping that it would make her feel better. Plus, he begrudgingly admitted, it also helped take his mind off those other things he'd long wanted to forget, but couldn't.

He was surprised to learn they came from a similar background. They were such different people; he never would have guessed that she was also the child of alcoholics. But the biggest difference was that she had fought her way out and done something with her life. She became a doctor. All he had done was follow Merle around, letting him call all the shots, every wrong one of them. It must have taken a lot of guts to turn away from her family to pursue the things she wanted to do. Daryl realized how much respect he had for Denise. She was tougher than he thought, reminding him a little of Beth with the way she stood up to him. His chest tightened at the thought of his dead sister who also wanted to live life on her own terms, but made a bad decision that cost her her life.

Hearing the echo of a gunshot ringing in his head, he shook off his grief, refusing to let it pull him down. Denise was family now.

When they made it to the train tracks, Daryl turned towards them when Rosita called out to him. "Hey," she said, indicating that she was willing to take the long way with them. She seemed less angry now too.

"This way's faster, right?" He was ready to take a few risks, wanting to get home as soon as possible. He had something he needed to do. Something that couldn't wait.

Rosita and Denise followed and the three of them walked along the tracks towards where the truck was parked. After a while, Rosita fell in step with him. Looking over at her, he noticed the drawn quality of her face. She was lost in her thoughts.

"You deserve better than that asshole," he said to her.

"I know," Rosita said, sure of herself. She took a few more steps. "Still hurts though."

"Yeah," he agreed, understanding all too well. "Assholes got a way of gettin' under your skin."

He looked behind them, noticing that Denise was lagging behind, but still there. He let her be, allowing her the feeling of independence. She deserved a chance.

Suddenly, she was shouting to them about a cooler in a car off the side of the tracks she wanted to get.

"We got what we came for," Rosita hollered at her.

"Nah," he added, agreeing with Rosita. "Ain't worth the trouble. C'mon."

Dismissing Denise's idea, they turned back and continued the trek. A little while later, they heard the struggle from behind them, off to the right. Denise had disregarded them and went for the cooler anyway. They took off in a run towards her.

When they arrived, he saw that Denise was wrestling the walker, and it looked about to bite her. Dropping his gun, he unsheathed his knife and moved to help her.

"No!" she cried out, refusing his assistance, wanting to prove herself. She struggled to get the upper hand, but eventually she planted the knife in the walker's skull, killing it.

Afterwards, Denise stood proudly, sheathing her knife as she caught her breath. Then suddenly, she was lurching forward, emptying the contents of her breakfast on the ground. "Oh man," she said, still panting. "I threw up on my glasses."

It was her joking manner that set Daryl off again. He wasn't sure if she was taking it seriously how close she had just come to getting killed. She had him worried about her. The anger seethed inside him.

Denise moved to the cooler. "Hot damn," she said frivolously, finding a single can of soda on the partial six-pack of beer inside.

For Daryl, it was the last straw. "What the hell was that? You coulda died right there, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You hearin' me?"

"Who gives a shit? You could have died killing those Saviors. Both of you! But you didn't! You wanna live? You take chances. That's how it works. That's what I did."

"For a couple o' damn sodas?"

"Nope, just this one," she said, brushing past them, showing him the orange can. Tara's favorite.

Rosita gave him a look of disbelief and hurried after her. "Are you seriously that stupid?"

"Are you?" Denise asked plainly. "I mean it. Are you? Do you have any clue what that was to me? What this whole thing is to me? See, I have training in this shit. I'm not making it up as I go along like with the stitches, and the surgery, and the…" She trailed off as she looked at Daryl. "I asked you to come with me because you're brave like my brother, and sometimes you actually make me feel safe."

She turned to Rosita. "And I wanted you here because you're alone. Probably for the first time in your life. And because you're stronger than you think you are, which gives me hope that maybe I can be too. I could've gone with Tara. I could've told her I loved her." She looked pointedly at Daryl again, burning her eyes into him. "But I didn't. Because I was afraid. That's what's stupid. Not coming out here. Not facing my shit."

Daryl swallowed his anger, and she continued to lecture the both of them with fire in her eyes. "And it makes me sick that you guys aren't even trying. Because you're strong and you're smart. And you're both really good people. And if you don't wake—" the tip of a bolt suddenly burst through her eye "—up, and face your—"

Daryl reached out, gasping in horror as Denise began to collapse at his feet. His vision narrowed, his blood turning to ice as he recognized the fledging. It was _his_ bolt sticking out of her eye. This was _his_ fault.

She had thought of him as a brother.

His blood was thrumming in his ears as her lifeless body hit the ground. Somewhere far away, he could hear a clanking sound as Rosita charged her rifle. He readied his own instinctively, feeling his arms shaking as he aimed.

"Lower your weapons, now!" someone shouted.

Daryl felt a tight, searing pain across his chest as he began to breathe again, short and shallow. One breath. Two. Anger burned swiftly through his veins. He gripped the gun, feeling the hard press of it against his shoulder. His hands steadied and his vision expanded, watching as several people began to stream out of the woods at once. _Like vermin,_ he thought. They were outnumbered.

It was that prick, Dwight, from the burnt forest. The one he'd foolishly tried to help. The one he should have killed. He looked a little different; disfigured. His face had been burnt, and the skin on one side had melted, giving the smug look he wore now as he stood there holding Daryl's crossbow more of a menace to it. He had Eugene, bound at the wrists, pushing him to the ground in front of Daryl and Rosita.

The others searched them and took their weapons while the ugly prick was boasting that they were headed for Alexandria next. All Daryl could think about was slitting that prick's throat before he had a chance to hurt anyone else he cared about.

Then, Eugene was prattling on about one of their own hiding behind the rusty oil barrels down the tracks, and suddenly shots were being fired. Daryl seized the opportunity and started killing everyone in his way, trying to get to Dwight. He ducked behind an abandoned car to take cover. But when that prick started to flee, Daryl chased after him, knowing he needed to end this. Hopping over the hood of the car, he ran towards the tracks to pick up his crossbow, watching as the five remaining men bolted across the open field towards the treeline. They were getting away. He was just starting down the embankment when Rosita called out.

"Daryl, stop!"

He hesitated, wanting to finish what he should have in the burnt forest. He couldn't just let Dwight and his buddies get away again. Not after Dwight had threatened to come to Alexandria. But there was an urgency to Rosita's voice as she was flagging Daryl down. Eugene was hurt, and they needed to get him home. Daryl couldn't—wouldn't—let another of his people die because of his mistake. So he sprung into action, slinging his crossbow across his shoulder to help carry the bleeding man to the truck, leaving Denise's ashen body until they could come back for it. As he stumbled leadenly across the tracks, he cast a forlorn look where she lay, wrongfully extinguished and cruelly exposed to the vicious elements that tyrannized their world. His regret left a bitter taste in his mouth, but there was nothing he could do for his fallen sister anymore except put her in the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When they'd gone back for her body, Daryl had taken Denise's bag with the soda and given it to Maggie, knowing how much Denise had wanted Tara to have it. But he kept the keychain with her brother's name on it for himself. Because _he_ had been her brother, too.

After the brief service, people began trickling away from the grave. Daryl quickly grabbed a shovel, preparing to fill in the hole. As he paused to look over Denise's body a final time, Rick came up behind him, putting a caring hand on his shoulder. Daryl turned his head slightly to stare at the man's shoes, unable to meet his eyes. "I got this," he said, his voice low and raw with grief.

"Alright," said Rick, nodding with understanding. He gave Daryl's shoulder a firm squeeze before turning away, knowing him well enough to give him the space he needed without offering to stay and help. To Daryl, it was his fault Denise was lying in the ground; he needed to be the one to clean up the mess.

Only Carol lingered behind after everyone had left, watching him shovel dirt. Her presence grated on him. He just wanted to be left alone, but sending her away was something he could not bring himself to do. It was his cross to bear, and it made him feel weak knowing just how much he needed her.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from his vest pocket. He needed something to take the edge off.

She frowned at the scornful tone in his voice, letting him know she disapproved. "Construction crew. Building the new guard tower."

Daryl scoffed, quickly downing the whiskey and then tossing the bottle into the hole before returning to his task.

"Besides, I'm here for you," she said.

"Ain't that grand," he spat bitterly.

"You cared about her," she said, ignoring his gruffness and picking up a shovel.

Shutting her out with his anger, he didn't answer. He just kept shoveling dirt into the grave, consumed by his thoughts. What did it fucking matter if he cared? Whenever he tried, someone ended up in the ground. How many more was he going to have to bury?

He kept seeing Denise's face as she had proudly ranted, wanting him to face his shit like she had faced hers. She had almost convinced him it'd be worth it. Almost. But like all things, he'd fucked it up for her, too. What was the point of trying? He didn't know anymore. Pausing again, he took out another bottle of whiskey, sucking the poison down as fast as he could.

Feeling Carol's eyes on him, he went back to work. She was quiet. Too quiet. Her silence was a thorn in his side.

Without a word, Carol started to dig alongside him. It irked him. Even though he was acting like an ass, she was still there trying to help. The woman was a goddamn saint. How could he even think he could be good enough for her?

He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel. He took out another bottle of liquor, numbing the pain.

"You're not alone," said Carol, cutting through the silence in attempt to console him. And it just made the pain that much sharper because he had never felt more alone. Like Beth had told him: he was going to be the last man standing. And it was all his fault.

Letting the heat from the whiskey burn through him, he tossed the empty bottle into the grave with the last dregs of his hope and kept shoveling. After a while, the liquor began to loosen his lips.

"I fucked it all up."

"Why would you say that?"

"'Cause it's true. Always too late and a dollar short. The story of my goddamn life."

"Daryl."

He dug at the dirt angrily with the shovel. "Shoulda done it in the burnt forest like I said. None of this woulda happened. But I… I fuckin' _hesitated_." He blew out a breath of disgust at himself as he tossed the loose dirt into the grave. "If it had been you—or Rick...you woulda got shit done right the first time."

She wrinkled her brow. "You wanted to help. That's why you didn't do it. You're a good man, Daryl."

"Pfft. Good man? Denise is dead because I let those fools live!"

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do."

"It could easily have been someone else."

Stopping abruptly, his eyes narrowed at her and hardened. "Yeah," he said with a sneer, "there's always someone else."

Her eyes turned choppy and gray as she stared off.

Daryl went back to shoveling the dirt, but she stayed motionless, lost in thought. There was something odd about her stillness that disturbed him. Her sorrow was like a thick vine coiled tightly around her slender frame. It would smother her eventually, until the last of her light was extinguished too. Watching her, his neck began to grow warm as the heat from the whiskey began to take effect. She was beautiful even when she was a miserable wreck. But it was her sadness that always undid him. Briefly pausing, he forgot the reason for his anger as he worried about her. He started speaking before he knew what he was saying.

"Are you okay, Carol? 'Cause you don' look it." His tongue felt thick as he slurred the words.

Pulled from her thoughts, she jolted. "Of course I'm not okay. Denise is dead, and I'm worried about you. That you think it's your fault for _not_ killing someone."

He growled at the reminder. "Shoulda put a bolt in his eye." He frowned as he pictured Denise in mid-sentence as the bolt had come flying through.

"Maybe," Carol said. "But when does it end?"

"When it ends," he said gruffly, shoveling more dirt.

She hesitated as if realizing something. "This is just gonna keep happening."

"Yep."

She finished tossing in the last bit of dirt and then rested her shovel against the fence with a pensive look on her face. She was a million miles away with worry in her eyes.

Daryl stood, leaning awkwardly against his shovel to watch her. Even in his anger he could see how the strain of her thoughts oppressed her. But seeing the walls spring up around her really infuriated him.

"I can't be here," she said quietly to herself, turning to leave.

"What?"

Letting the shovel fall from his hand onto the newly filled grave, his glare was unyielding, knowing damn well she was trying to run away from whatever was bothering her. "You got somewhere better you gotta be?"

Ignoring him, she tried to walk by, but he stepped in her way, his eyes darkening as they focused on her. He pulled out two more bottles and offered her one. "C'mon. Turn off those spinnin' wheels in your pretty little head."

She shook her head.

"You too good to drink with me now?"

She frowned.

"C'mon," he said, egging her on, "don't be such a prude."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Reverting to peer pressure now?"

He shrugged. "If that's what it takes."

She pursed her lips into a look of disapproval, but then relented, reaching for the bottle.

"That's it," he encouraged her.

"You set a bad example."

"Yep."

She unscrewed the top and he tapped his bottle against hers.

"To Denise!" he toasted too loudly. "She had more balls than I do."

Carol frowned, but took a sip.

He laughed at her. "Ain't for sippin', Goody Two Shoes, you gotta toss it back. Like this." He put the bottle to his lips and showed her. "Try again."

Copying him, she tipped her head back, downing the rest of the bottle in a single gulp before making a face.

"Better." He took out two more bottles.

She shook her head. "I think the one was enough."

"No, it ain't. You're still thinkin'."

"You're drunk."

"Not yet. C'mon, catch up."

Reluctantly, Carol took the second bottle from his hand and unscrewed the top. Then she tapped his bottle with hers and tossed it back.

He watched her face flush with heat from the alcohol and nearly smiled. "Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He finished his bottle and grabbed two more.

"No, I shouldn't."

"Yeah, you should," he insisted, thrusting one of the bottles towards her.

She didn't reach for it. "Daryl, don't do this." The worry on her face refused to leave. It frustrated him.

"What? I'm payin' my respects. Hell, who knows when shit will ever be settled 'round here. Might be our only chance to...feel it, right? That's what you tol' me." He opened a bottle and waved it in front of her.

"Feel it," he scoffed as the anger simmered inside him.

His head was beginning to swim as he took a swig, but there was no diluting his heartache. His eyes narrowed at her. "Oh, but I can't," he said, mocking her. "Can't feel it, can't get close. Right? Ain't that what you think? I'm the fuckin' Ice Queen! Can't feel nothin' 'less I'm gettin' laid!" He flung his anger towards her. "It's fuckin' bullshit! All of it!"

The hurt and regret pooling in Carol's eyes may as well have been the slap across his cheek he knew he deserved. Biting his lip too late, his face burned from the shame of his behavior. He knew he had gone too far.

The bottles slipped from his hands, falling to the ground as he relinquished his anger. She stepped by him, trying to flee, but he stopped her, gently reaching out to take her elbow, turning her towards him. He needed to face what he had done.

"Carol, wait," he pleaded.

Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears and he could feel the sting of remorse in his own. He couldn't let her leave this way.

"M'sorry. That was a dick move. And I'm a fuckin' asshole."

Selfish. That's what he'd been, trying to tear her walls away just to get her to look upon him without pretense and deception, without that stubborn veneer—the way she used to. Unguarded and open. _His_ Carol. He had no right. None at all. She didn't belong to him. She never had.

"You're drunk."

"Ain't no excuse, and you know it."

She blinked and a single tear escaped, blazing a thin trail down her pale cheek. His chest tightened as he watched it fall; it was more than he could bear to see. Reaching out his thumb, he brushed it away.

"M'sorry as shit right now. M'sorry 'bout a lot of things," he began to grovel. "I really fucked things up for us didn't I?"

"No, Daryl. We're all gonna be fine."

He squinted at her, confused. Were they talking about the same thing?

He shook his head and it made him dizzy. "With you, I mean." He looked at his boots, too afraid to meet her eyes. Despite what he'd done, he was still afraid of her rejection.

She raised her eyebrows, showing her bewilderment. "Me? But I thought—"

"Took you for granted," he finally admitted, blowing the air out of his lungs as he did so. He met her eyes so she would know he meant what he said. Damn, she was so beautiful. "Always"—he felt his knees buckling and canted slightly as he righted himself—"thought there would be more time. But there never is."

He scratched behind his ear. The pressure to keep speaking wouldn't let up, so he continued. "Been too scared to lose what we have. But really, it's you I don't wanna lose, Carol." He needed her to understand the truth of his words. He was ready for things to change.

"If bein' with him is what you really want... Ain't gonna screw that up for you. You deserve to be happy. Want you to be.

"Are you happy?" he asked her again, his tone notably serious. He needed the truth, whatever it was.

Their eyes were locked on each other. Hers were as wide as morning glories as she took in what he said. He stood there, breathless from his speech, from baring his soul, feeling vulnerable and unsteady as he waited for her response, trying to read her.

Her eyes darted back and forth almost fearfully as they searched his. "He makes me feel loved," she blurted out.

"How?" The question burst through his lips, hot and panicked like his breath. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he needed her to tell him what she needed.

"He hasn't pushed me away when I needed to be close. When I needed...comfort. For a long time, I just needed something...more." She looked away. "I know that sounds incredibly selfish."

"Nah, it don't." His tongue felt thick, almost numb. "I jus'—I didn't know that's how you felt."

"You think I didn't try to tell you?" The incredulity in her voice held a hint of sorrow. "Because I did. Like a hundred times. Or at least I think I tried."

He thought back to all the teasing and flirting she did with him at the prison that suddenly had taken on another meaning. "Yeah," he agreed, blinking rapidly as the truth in her words finally penetrated him. "You prob'ly did. Guess I'm jus' thick-headed."

"Well, at least we can agree on that." She winked at him and pursed her lips into a sad sort of smirk, taking some of the sting out of the blow.

He tried to smile at her even though it hurt to. Shit, Denise was right. He'd been a fucking coward. The guilt hardened in his chest as he realized how he had let Carol down. It pressed on him, giving him a sinking feeling.

"Jus' didn't think you were bein' serious is all. Didn't understand—Hell, didn't _believe_ it. M'sorry."

She shook her head, kindly refusing his apology. It was just like her to take him off the hook for all his social gaffes. His inadequacies. He didn't deserve her. His stomach knotted, his dread growing as he realized he'd blown his opportunity. She had moved on, but he still couldn't let go.

Carol smiled sadly, and her eyes grew distant again. It set Daryl off, drew him in closer.

"Gimme a chance?" God, that was pathetic. Might as well have dropped to his knees. Then again, he reflected, maybe he ought to. All his muscles grew taut and rigid as he froze in his uncertainty, barely breathing as he gazed into her eyes.

She blinked once. Then again before replying. "I—I don't know if I can."

The words fell down into the hollow pit in his chest. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he nodded at her, only half-accepting them. Regret was burning in his eyes, threatening to spill. She didn't really mean that, did she? He stopped breathing and shifted his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets, unsure why he was still standing there, begging like the sad dog he was. But he was stranded, caught in the murky blue of her eyes, feeling like he was drowning as the pressure in his chest grew. Maybe it was his defiance that kept him rooted to the spot, but something in him refused to walk away. His fingers brushed against the toy soldier, and in that moment he knew he had to fight back. He had to make things right between them again.

Compelled by a hopeless fear, he rushed forward, obliterating the space between them. With her face in both hands, he pulled her closer, crushing his lips against hers, pouring out his pent-up soul, flooding her with his desperation; he kissed her with a wild urgency that sent him careening heart-first into oblivion.

He fought for her with everything he had, laying his pride on the battlefield, surrendering himself to his desire. As his fingers brushed across her cheeks, he felt her lean into his lips, and a powerful surge of heat and electricity ignited inside him. The tangible intensity of it shocked him into sobriety.

When he pulled back to search her eyes, desperate for some look of approval, all he saw was her confusion. Her fingers absently went to her swollen lips as he waited breathlessly for a signal. His heart hammered in his ears, but his hands were still cupping her face, his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of her cheeks. It felt like hours that he waited in limbo, his body tense and aching with anticipation, gripping her with the fiercest need for affirmation that he'd ever felt. He was unable to let her go.

"I didn't...I don't…" Carol stumbled to find the words. "I can't." Pulling away from him, she stepped back, out of his grasp. "I'm sorry." Turning away, she slipped into the shadows and ran off into the coming night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

He was laying on the most comfortable bed he'd ever had, but Daryl couldn't sleep, tossing and turning as thoughts of Carol wrapped around him like tangled sheets. He could still feel the heat of the kiss burning through his skin like a sweltering fever, leaving him weak and confused and in a cold sweat. The taste of her sweet lips lingered on his tongue. But all he could see was the gritty film in his head showing the way Carol had pulled away from him and fled. It played over and over.

Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he kicked off the covers and sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, trying not to panic. The coolness of the wood floor under his feet grounded him, and he tried to focus on that sensation. He leaned over, elbows on his knees, combing his fingers through his hair, trying to brush away the memory.

But it wasn't just the fact that she had rejected him: he should have kicked his own ass for acting like such a creep. _Damn, that was stupid_ —letting himself get drunk like that—with _her_. As if things weren't fucked up enough. No, something else was chafing him, tickling his nerves, but he couldn't make out the source of the irritant. It wasn't that Carol was with Tobin, at Tobin's house. God, he didn't even want to imagine what they might be— _Nope._ Standing quickly, he started to pace. No, it wasn't that either. After a while, he realized he was wide awake, and he couldn't just stay there in his bedroom with the walls and his thoughts closing in on him. He had to get outside where the air was fresh. He had to get out of Alexandria.

His eyes fell on the map laying on his nightstand. He'd been studying it on nights like this when he couldn't sleep, getting a feel for the neighboring terrain, planning an escape route for when this place went belly up. Maybe it was time to scout it out. Hunting would give him something constructive to do, and maybe he could actually think clearly once he made it outside the walls. Dressing quickly, he grabbed his bag, shoving the map in his pocket and picking up his crossbow as he made his way outside.

By the gate, he saw something moving in the shadows. A shimmer of silver hair shined in the dim light of the waning moon. It was Carol, dressed in an oversized jacket and carrying a full backpack. She was headed somewhere. No—she was running away. Again. Initially he thought she was running from him, after what he had done, but then the rational part of his brain took over—or maybe it was his gut. Not only did he know it was something else, he felt it: an icy panic that quickly heated.

As the scene of the kiss replayed in his mind, he felt his body respond. His skin grew warm and clammy, prickling at the same time. The smooth feel of her skin under his fingers as he grabbed her face. The soft warmth of her lips. The press of her body as she leaned into him—

 _Wait. What?_

He exhaled suddenly as the realization of what he'd been trying to figure out finally hit him. _She had kissed him back._

Maybe Denise had been right after all; it wasn't too late. At least not yet—

Daryl stepped out of the shadows, directly in her path, blocking her.

"Daryl," she gasped, startled.

"What are you doin'?" He didn't have to ask the question, but ever since Atlanta, he needed to hear her say it aloud to expose the ugly truth of it.

Drawing her brow together as she frowned, she eyed him in a calculating manner, refusing to oblige him. "You know. I have to."

"So, you're jus' gonna leave without sayin' nothin'?" He growled the question at her; he was pissed.

"I left a note," she said defensively, looking away.

He squinched his face at her excuse, his distaste evident as it crinkled around his eyes. _A note?_ _How convenient_ , he thought. She knew he would try to stop her, so she tried to slip out during the night. Oh, she was clever.

"Where are you gonna go?"

She sighed, frowning. "Somewhere else."

He snickered. "Alright. See you got this all planned out. But I'm comin' with you." Turning to the gate, he made to open it.

She maneuvered herself in front of him. "No," she insisted, putting her hand on the door. "I have to be alone."

"Why? 'Cause it's easier that way?" He paused as his anger flared, sighing a breath. "I'm not gonna let you pull away."

Tears welled in her eyes. They'd come so far since their days on the farm. As he stood there, still fighting for her, it was clear their roles had reversed. This time, she was the one standing on the other side of that imaginary divide, severing the ties that bound them together. But it was different now. Everything was more complicated. It was ugly. Bleak. He saw the hopelessness leaking from her eyes. Somewhere along the road she had lost her faith that things could ever be different. No wonder she was running.

"Daryl, you can't leave. You need them. And they need you here."

"And they don't need you? That it?"

"No, they probably do. But that's just it. The things we need to do to keep them safe. I... I can't do it anymore. I don't want to."

"You don't have to."

"I do if I want them to be safe. I can't love them. I can't—"

"But you already do."

He had her. Seeing the confirmation of it filling her eyes, he knew it was true. She couldn't argue her way out of it. Not with him looking at her. Growing bolder, heart in his throat, he took a step closer, confronting her with flinty eyes. "Tell me you don't love me."

Two wet trails lined her face. "Of course I love you, Daryl," she reached for him. Her warm fingers gently slid against the scruff of his chin. "But it's not enough."

"The hell you mean it's not enough? We're stronger together!"

"Daryl, those people who took us, the Saviors? We butchered them! Is that strength?"

"Survivin' is strength. We stay alive for each other. If it's them or you, I'll always choose you. Always. We did what we had to do."

"Did we?"

"They weren't good people," he said with conviction.

"They were people! Same as us! Good, bad, what does that even mean now?"

He stared at her intently as she continued. "And what about Denise? You said you should have killed them in the burnt forest, and I knew you were right from the moment you said it. My God, Daryl, when did we become like _them_? When did we become the monsters?"

"We ain't nothin' like 'em," he barked.

"If we want the people we care about to be safe, we have to kill to protect them. But what are we really protecting if we act like them? If we hurt people? I—I can't do it. Not anymore. I don't want to become like them. And it's only—it's only a matter of time.

"For however long I've got, I still have to live with myself. And I can't do that if I stay here." Her voice was desperate, urgently begging him to understand.

His brow pressed together with worry. "What are you sayin'?"

"I don't want to die," she reassured him. "But this—this isn't how I want to live. Worrying all the time about every damned choice I have to make, wondering if it's the right one, who will die as a result—"

"So the choices we make don't always pan out. Yeah, I shoulda killed that guy when I had the chance! Now Denise is dead from my own goddamn bolt. But Noah, he led us to Beth." His voice cracked as his grief broke through. "And we almost—we almost saved her, Carol. And then, Aaron led us here.

"Good things still happen. Like Judith. You said, 'A baby brings hope.' Remember when you said that? Before we even found the prison. And now Glenn and Maggie are expectin' a little one. We may lose people, Carol, but life—it goes on. _We_ go on. We have to."

"I can't," she said with eyes full of water. She looked ready to drown. "I can't lose anyone else. I'm just not strong enough."

"Bullshit. You're stronger than you think. You ain't stone cold. And you ain't a monster. You're Carol. Hell yeah, you're a fighter—but you're also a good cook, a patient teacher, a problem solver. But more importantly, you're a friend. The best kind.

"If you wanna leave—leave. If that's what you think you gotta do. But I'm tellin' you right now, I ain't lettin' you go out there alone. Not again. Can't keep losin' you.

"I love you," he confessed, not letting his gaze waver from her eyes even as his voice trembled with the truth of the sentiment finally verbalized. "I swear, I love you more than you think you deserve. And I promise you, I'll remind you every day why you do."

She was crying now, lips full and quivering. Her freckled cheeks were shining with fresh tears and her eyes, red-rimmed. And he thought she never looked more beautiful.

He reached for her face, wiping her tears with his thumb. "But you got it all wrong. We both did," he admitted. "Lovin' ain't weakness, it's strength. Strength to do the things we need to. To fight. To keep goin', even when you're tapped out."

"It's better if I don't love—"

"No, it ain't," he said, cutting her off. "You're too good at it. This world needs someone like you." He stepped closer, letting his voice drop lower. " _I_ need you."

"But the others—"

"Ain't the same, and you know it. Sure, they're family, but you're—" he brushed his thumb across her drying cheek, "—more." He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Daryl." She gasped more than said his name, and the breathy quality of her voice instantly charmed him.

Leaning forward, he gazed into her eyes with an almost smile as he saw a glint of hope flashing there. "Carol."

Even before he moved, the space between them began to thin and evaporate as the pull between them grew stronger, enchanted by some unknown force that Daryl refused to question.

With his eyes locked on hers, captivated by their stark unveiling, he stepped closer, and she backed up as if spellbound; he pursued her until her back was against the wall. Taking a breath, he paused, studying her, bringing his hands up to either side of her head, trapping her so the only place she could move was forward. He was completely absorbed, fascinated by the way her pale eyes reflected the moonlight and seemed to almost dance as they flitted back and forth. That sparkle he had finally come to believe was inexplicably meant only for him began to shine once again. "Hmm," he said as if he'd uncovered the greatest mystery of the universe.

"What?" she asked, her shoulders remarkably relaxing.

Admiring her baby blues, he shook his head, unable to look away. All he could see was her. And she was so close, he could see her pupils expanding and contracting as they fixated on him. His body hummed in response. "Nothin'." He smiled.

"What?" she insisted. The light shimmered and sparkled in her eyes as she grew curious.

He reached for her face, letting the tips of his fingers slide across the smooth skin of her jawline until they came to rest under her chin. Lifting it, he drew his face closer, scrutinizing her. "Wish you could see you the way I do. You've got the kindest eyes of anyone I've ever known."

She took in a breath. "Really?"

He squinted, focusing earnestly on the smallest details, noticing how the light bounced eagerly across her eyes as he spoke, watching them glisten and expand. S _well._ They were radiating the most delicate shade of blue. "The color..."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "'S'like a robin's egg."

"Oh?"

"'S'like they're about to crack open...and jus'...spill out everything you got." He moved his hand, placing it gingerly over her heart. "In here," he added.

Her heart was beating just as fast as his.

His breath came a little more rapidly as his bold discovery both excited and unnerved him. She stood there listening, _waiting_ , appearing open and vulnerable—just as he had wanted; as he felt her trembling lightly, he knew he had to tread carefully, or he might spook her. His fingers wandered up, sliding up the length of her neck, splaying across her cheek to lace through her hair. Moving slowly, deliberately, he closed the gap between them, resting his forehead against hers, holding her to him.

He closed his eyes, his throat constricting with remorse so that he could barely whisper. "I shoulda told you sooner. In Atlanta, I shoulda…" Sighing, he pulled back a fraction of an inch to look at her again, seeking some kind of forgiveness. Her cerulean gaze was faintly misting in a way that pierced him to his core, and his voice grew even softer as his mouth grew dry. "This okay?"

She barely nodded, like she too was afraid to break the spell of magic that had come over them and brought them together, watching as he licked his lips and grew closer.

He pressed his cautious lips against hers, closing his eyes again, feeling his heart race as he gently kissed her. Her lips were as he remembered: soft and warm—and supple as she responded to him. He lingered for a moment, savoring the sensations that kindled inside him. When he pulled away, his heart leapt across the space between them.

As Carol peered into his eyes, he knew couldn't hide the tumult of emotions that had flooded him. His love for her was obvious—it had to be—his heart was damn near bursting out of his chest trying to get closer to her. But she caught him off guard as she reached hungrily for his face, keeping him close, and began to smooth away the unruly fringe of hair from his eyes with her fingers as if it was in the way. Relishing her touch, he let his eyes close for a moment, appreciating the gentle tingling along his skin.

"Daryl."

Hearing her say his name sent tiny shockwaves of pleasure spiraling down his spine. "Mmm," he groaned, opening his eyes to heighten the sensations coursing through him. Was this really happening?

The way she was looking at him made him churn with a mixture of awe and responsibility. Light jittered nervously about her eyes as they filled with a genuine virtue he rarely saw directed toward himself. It was love. But it was the kind of love he'd never really known before. Not before she came along. A love so very deep, profoundly _intimate_ —entirely life altering—that his fear of it had paralyzed him and kept him from moving forward. But now, as she looked at him, blue eyes shimmering, it was clear; he had been gravitating towards her, drifting into her waters for a long time. And it was the only direction he could see himself going.

He dove in, letting himself be drawn into her embrace. Her slender arms wrapped around him, pulling him in even closer.

"Daryl," she said his name again decisively, claiming him. But he was already hers.

He reached out, his fingers ghosting across the soft skin of her cheek to curl around her ear. She was real, and he was hers. Had been all along. She just needed to know. "Carol," he echoed her vow, breathing her deeper into his heart, banishing the lonely void that lived inside him.

They kissed again. Soft. Certain. Perfect. A kiss that opened them, and closed them, sealing their fate, binding their hearts forever to each other.

"Stay," he pleaded into her ear when their lips broke apart.

"I—I can't," she said, gripping his vest when he started pulling away. "But you—you should...come."

Gazing into her eyes, Daryl could see the invitation was sincere. His thumb caressed her lips to remind himself again that this wasn't a dream.

"Not lettin' you outta my sight," he promised her, the certainty rumbling through his voice.

When they finally stepped apart, Carol looked up at him with clear eyes. Nodding her head, she agreed shakily. "Okay."

* * *

Before the sun came up, it was decided they would go away. Just the two of them. Daryl knew that she wasn't going to change her mind; he'd tried. The best he could manage was to convince her to at least let him go with her. He would have followed her like a shadow anyway, whether she liked it or not.

There was no time to say goodbye. Carol had left her note, and she wasn't about to face Rick or anyone else and have to listen to them try to change her mind in order for Daryl to say farewell. Daryl made his choice without hesitation. He said he would always choose her, and he meant it. Still, he had his regrets leaving family behind; Rick was his brother. But Carol, she was his heart and soul.

Just outside the gate, they argued about how they would travel. She wanted to take one of the vehicles.

"I've inspected it. It runs," she promised.

Daryl tensed, feeling a gripping in his belly, wondering how long she had been planning her escape. "Nah, we should keep off the road. Don't know who's waitin' for us out there."

He flexed and curled his fingers into his palm several times, releasing the fist he'd made. It was hard for him to control the anger he felt over Denise's death, and he had half a mind to track Dwight back to whatever hellhole he had crawled out of to do what he should have in the burnt forest. But he knew he had to let it go to keep Carol safe. "'Sides, if we go on foot we can live off the land."

"Sounds romantic," Carol teased.

"That's it," he replied, playing along, finally understanding the game after all this time. "Jus' you an' me an' the squirrels."

Her face lit up as she giggled. Even in the dark, he could see that flicker of light in her eyes. Inside his rib cage, Daryl felt a spring of hope rippling into the empty space, uplifting him. It was exactly what he wanted, and not just since Atlanta either, he realized. For as long as he'd known her, he'd wanted to see her happy. Everything he was now was because of her, because of the love she had given him, showing him that it had been within him the whole time. Now it was his turn. It was then that he knew he was up to the task of filling Carol with light, of keeping her adorned in bright smiles for the remainder of his days on this wretched earth. Leaving Alexandria behind was easier after that, once the promise of what lay ahead had revealed itself to him.

They walked for days across the countryside. Once they got outside of Alexandria, things seemed to shift between them as they relaxed naturally into the rhythm of their trekking, falling in and out of silence as the changing landscape crunched and whispered beneath their feet. The sun weaved in and out of the partly cloudy sky leaving the sunlight to sway to the music of the cooling wind. There was an ease to their stride; it was lightly energetic, and Daryl's steps almost seemed to bounce on the loamy soil. Maybe because he finally admitted he loved her. Maybe it was in her kiss, which said more than either of them could really say without blushing.

But even in the comfortable silences, there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty that lingered in the air around them, between them. It worried Daryl, and while he followed Carol's lead, he knew she was still drifting, caught in her head thinking so much he wasn't sure if she even knew where her feet were going. He needed a plan to ground her, construct a purpose for their aimless wandering.

"I've never been to the ocean," he told her when they had stopped to rest one day.

"Really?" Carol asked, her brows raised in surprise.

He nodded. "Always stuck to the woods. But after the prison, when Beth and I—" He stopped and looked at her, worried he'd said too much. He didn't want to remind her of who they'd lost, what they had walked away from.

She smiled at him and that was all the encouragement he needed to continue. "I started to wonder why I never went. Never even tried." He looked at his idle hands as if perplexed by the idea. "Seems like such a waste not to. Wanna go?"

His serious blue eyes were soft and open when they met hers. He was giving her a direction, a plan, some sense of hope. They could do this.

"Sounds like an adventure," she replied with a curious gleam in her eye. "How far do you think we are?"

He shrugged, pulling out the map from his back pocket. "Let's find out," he said with a crooked grin.

"You had a map this whole time?" Carol was shocked. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? You knew I wouldn't say no." She playfully slapped his upper arm.

Letting her think what she liked, he caught her hand with his free one, weaving his fingers between hers as he drew her closer, deeply gazing into her eyes. Satisfied by the sparkle he saw there, he quickly spun her around to her surprise, placing their clasped hands against her belly while he shook open the map with his other hand.

"Smooth, Dixon. I think I like this side of you," she said as she snuggled into his embrace, smoothing out the map with her other hand.

He growled low as she brushed against him. Leaning his head into her neck, he breathed in her scent, cherishing her closeness, and whispered in her ear, "Y'ain't seen nothin' yet."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for all your support and for staying with me through the darkness! Epilogue to follow. -jb


	6. Epilogue

AN: In which we finally meet our lovers in the present so beware the tense change ahead. Alas, we come to the end here. Thanks for your support. -jb

* * *

They rarely see walkers anymore, but Carol and Daryl both know that they were never the real threat. It was other people they needed to avoid. Heading south towards the Carolinas, they keep off the roads and away from the cities and suburbs, trudging across open fields and through the autumn woods, wary of the potential for danger. The changing leaves on the trees are a brilliant palette of colors that Daryl marvels at; there are the scarlet sumacs and flaming maples and oaks; the purpling dogwoods; the bright orange beeches and sweetgums; the buttery yellow of the gingko; the warm golden hickories and poplars; the evergreen of the pines and cedars; the colors mix and mingle like a patchwork quilt.

Days pass. The moon waxes. For a while, they do everything together because he's still half afraid she'll wander off without him. (He knows if she ever did, she'd hide her tracks so he could never find her.) They hunt together. Scavenge together. Only the night requires they take separate duties; so one sleeps while the other keeps watch. Their hard work has an old familiar rhythm to it, and they set up camp easily, sometimes without a word, but the fireside kisses they exchange, as brief as they have to be to keep them both focused, are new and exciting; something to look forward to at the end of a long day. When they find their first protected shelter, a rustic cabin in a copse of trees not far from the riverbank, they finally make love in the blue light cast by the full moon.

Once the door is secured, another instinct kicks in as both of them eye the creaky old bed in the corner, and then each other. Carol gives him a coy smile that sets him ablaze, and he feels a deep hunger, long-suppressed, awaken inside him. Blushing, they crash into each other's arms like two teenagers alone at last; their kisses, wet and eager as their boots and clothes are strewn all about the floor in a passionate flurry.

Daryl is so eager to find out what's underneath her cargo pants, that he doesn't focus on the fact that he's suddenly standing naked in front of her, scars and everything. It's just Carol after all, topless and beautiful in the moonlight, and seeing her bare breasts—feeling the soft flesh in his hands—wipes away his remaining self-consciousness along with his breath. And then she's naked too, and the heat from her skin pressing against his makes him so dizzy as the blood rushes away from his head that they clumsily fall into the bed.

Everything is a pleasurable whirl of sensation and movement, of friction and breathlessness; the chaos is so electric his skin prickles with excitement. Her hands—her extraordinary hands—are gentle as they wander across his chest, his arms, the scars on his back, and then so surprisingly strong as they tug him closer. He feels her milky skin pouring all around him; she's everywhere, and yet somehow she's not touching enough of him. His skin is burning so hot he can feel the perspiration pooling between them. Meanwhile, her tongue finds a spot on the back of his ear that makes him shiver. And then he's chasing her lips and catching them, seeking her tongue and finding it, and still he's craving more of her.

Rolling her onto her back, he grinds himself against the wet heat between her thighs. The sensation is just the more he's seeking. It almost overwhelms him how incredible it feels. Carol's moan mixes with his own, and the air is suddenly infused with the sweet musk of her arousal. It's intoxicating, and his head begins to swim. The ache in his groin grows more painful as he feels himself getting harder, his need for her becoming more irresistible. He's ready to launch himself into her and drown in her softness.

Suddenly, Daryl is nervous, wanting to get it right for her, knowing Carol deserves more from him than selfishness. So despite the urgency he feels in his blood, he pulls away, breathing raggedly. Their eyes meet, and he can see hers are heavy and dark with desire. It emboldens him. Slowly, his eyes drift to her luscious lips, swollen from his kisses. A deep flush has spread across her chest as his gaze wanders over the glistening curves of her body to the thatch of thick hair below. Moving down the expanse of her naked flesh, he takes his time exploring her freckled skin with his fingers and lips, listening for every one of her hitched breaths. Daryl tracks her every shudder until he learns all her secrets. Carol is sensitive, he discovers, ticklish even, and she becomes enraptured by his curiosity.

As he's parting the tender flesh between her thighs, Daryl pauses to seek out her eyes when he feels her trembling beneath his touch. Carol is biting at her lip uncertainly, but the pink glow on her cheeks only makes her more alluring. A brazen confidence fills his chest upon seeing his effect on her.

"You don't have to," she offers.

But he wants to, in fact, he's never been more certain of anything. He wants to please her. Feeling nearly drunk from the scent of her, Daryl gives her a roguish smile that makes his intentions clear and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh as he settles between her legs, desperate for a taste.

"Oh!" she says in surprise as his tongue finds her most sensitive spot. Her moan becomes protracted as she surrenders to his caresses. He takes his time, coaxing her pleasure, smirking against her succulent flesh as he feels her melting into the mattress. A deep sense of satisfaction fortifies him as Carol drawls his name in a sultry voice.

His patience is amply rewarded as she suddenly tenses, arching her back and bucking her hips, giving in to sensation with complete abandon. Watching her hit her peak is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. To his utter amazement, he has her quaking with pleasure again before she begs for him to be inside her.

Crawling atop her, he promptly obliges, pressing himself into the deepest part of her with reverent devotion. Again, they call out together as their bodies join; the moment is sacred in its stillness as they naturally find the other's gaze. Then, the sound of their syncopated breathing serenades them as they begin to rock together. Their rhythm is the way they've always been together—a slow crescendo, sweet and steady, each moment building on the last. But Daryl has anticipated this moment for so long, he is easily overwhelmed by her warmth, the ardent lustre of blue radiating from her eyes, the intensity of raw emotion for her that floods his chest, that he comes after a few more earnest thrusts, her name sputtering out of his lips in a rush of divine pleasure. Lucky for him, Carol doesn't even notice as she unravels beneath him for a third time, echoing her own bliss.

They make love all night and sleep in well past morning, draped across each other like silk sheets. It's only the grumbling of Carol's stomach that finally motivates him to even muster the notion of getting out of bed. He would have gladly perished in her arms.

When it starts to rain, they decide to weather the storm in the "love shack" as Carol affectionately begins to call it. Even after the sun returns, neither of them are in a hurry to leave the privacy and warmth the four walls provide. But one gray morning, Daryl wakes to find her gone from the bed and starts to panic. Throwing his clothes on as quickly as he can, he is stuffing his feet into his boots when she comes through the door with a dead rabbit in her hand and a less-than-satisfied smile on her face.

"You're dressed," she says, pouting. "I thought we could have breakfast in bed."

His fear is set aside when his lungs fill with the scent of her as she straddles him. He's already toeing off his boots when her lips meet his. His kisses are desperate and hungry, and breakfast is the last thing on his mind as he reclines on the bed with Carol securely wrapped in his arms.

But that night, he starts to have trouble sleeping. His dreams are filled with horrible images of flying bolts and sudden gunshots, of fences collapsing, of empty beds. He startles awake at the slightest movement when Carol shifts in her sleep beside him.

Weeks later, he's still worried about whether or not she'll stay, until one night after they've made love laying side by side, their legs still entwined, he loses himself so completely in the infinite blue depths of her eyes that the fear engulfs him. Clinging to her in frantic desperation, he throws himself at her mercy and cries into her neck.

"Please," he begs her, "don't ever leave me."

She holds him tenderly across her breast and shushes him, stroking his hair.

"Oh, Pookie, I'll never leave you," she promises. "I was wrong to think I ever could." Her fingers are as soothing as her words and gently lull him into a dreamless sleep.

She tells him every night after that. It takes some time, but eventually he starts to believe her. She keeps telling him anyway so he doesn't forget.

Another month goes by, and they stumble across a meadow filled with yellow wildflowers on one of their morning hunting trips. She blanches, collapsing to the earth like all the life had been sucked from her. It's only after he freaks out, going out of his mind with worry that she's sick, that she finally tells him the tragedy of Lizzie and Mika. It guts him what she had to do, and he grieves with her, holding her together while she cries and cries and cries.

"M'sorry," he whispers. "M'sorry you had to. Wasn't your fault, sweetheart. There was no way you could've known. You loved her. You loved 'em both, and they knew it." He presses his lips against her hairline, kissing her softly. "They're at peace."

Pulling her into his lap, he drapes himself around her like a blanket, rocking her gently. "It don't change a damn thing about who you are." He kisses her again. "You're still the woman I love."

It's dusk when all her tears are finally dried, and despite being cloaked in his warm arms, she feels cold and empty inside. Numb. _Barren_. The darkening sky is ablaze and bruising in livid scarlets and purples. She is still sniveling when she pushes him to the ground. "I need to feel alive," she says with cloudy red eyes, kissing him hard and unbuckling his jeans.

He lets her take whatever she needs from him to fill herself up. Never in his life has he given himself so freely to another, but he wants her to have every part of him—body and soul—until she's so full and complete she's overflowing with delight. She deserves nothing less.

Her passion is pure and wild, powerfully sublime as he watches her transcend her grief. His heart is full to aching with the rawness of her beauty, her indelible strength. She loves so fiercely, with the entirety of her being. To her very core, Carol is an irresistible force of nature that cannot be withstood. She rides him, transporting them to a painless world with no sense of separation, until they are both sated and sweating, and the stars begin to twinkle once again.

They stay in that haven for several months, letting Carol heal. They plant a garden in the open fields, thinking they might stay through the spring. The ocean could wait. Having her hands deep in the soil is therapeutic. Like it was for Rick. Daryl thinks it's when she looks the most at peace. Her face takes on a tranquil glow that makes her look years younger. Growing things is what she does best. He's proof of that. Carol made him stronger, he knows that for a fact with every fiber of his wretched being.

He wants to stay for her sake, but she's the one with the wanderlust and urges them on. The morning sun is beginning to crest over the eastern bank of the river when she tells him in an excited voice, eyes the clearest shade of blue he's ever seen, "I really want to see the look on your face when you see the ocean for the first time."

And God help him, he wants to give that to her more than he wants to actually see it, just to keep that flourishing sparkle lit in her eyes. So, he yields to her, giving her a "hell yeah" that matches her enthusiasm, and packs up their meagre belongings for the long trek.

The place is special to them, so they both vow to return…

* * *

Some days he wakes up next to her, aching from their daily toil, (and sometimes from their lovemaking, especially after those nights when she comes to him with tears in her eyes and a desperate thirst for him that only the violence of their union can quench), wishing they were both younger. Wishing he could give Carol a child he knew her broken heart longed for. He thinks he might have been a good father. Better than his old man, that's for damn sure. But he knows it's probably better this way in this harsh world they live in, because he could never subject her to that kind of loss again.

So he tries his best to help her forget the harshness by focusing instead on the beauty in the life surrounding them. While they laze in bed together, they watch the geese flocking south, listening to their calls as they fly above them. Contemplating the clouds passing overhead, the two of them tell stories about the shapes they see, and he swears it's more entertaining than anything they could have been watching on tv back in the old days. On their walks, he picks wildflowers and sticks them behind her ear, or when he's being flirty, in the hollow between her breasts, waiting for that burst of radiance from her smile that still renders him breathless. At night, he wraps his arm around her, molding her to his side while they watch the sky transform into a magical painted canvas as the sun sets, grateful for each one he has with her. Sometimes they linger under the the band of milky light stretching across the midnight sky, marvelling at the hundred billion stars spiraling above them. It puts everything into perspective. And when dawn breaks through the darkness, and he wakes beside her in the warm comfort provided by their nest of blankets, he starts the rituals over again and tells her how beautiful she is—every last naked inch of her—feeling his heart quicken when she kisses him in return. Her emotional storms become less frequent and she grows increasingly luminous, her eyes more colorful and lively; that's how he knows he's finally getting it right.

Daryl didn't think it was possible, but he loves her more with each passing day.

He still thinks about the old man, not his biological one, but Hershel. And Rick. Hears them in his head, like some internal moral compass, reminding him of the family he's left behind to some unknown fate. Sometimes, he thinks about going back to help, knowing it's probably the right thing to do, but he would never leave Carol. It's the most selfish thing he's ever done, staying with her. He needs her. What they have is far too special to even consider letting go. She's more than he ever asked for. Or thought he deserved. But certainly, she's the best thing he's ever fought for, and he's had to fight for everything his whole life. Honestly, Daryl can't imagine himself any place that isn't by her side. And Carol made it clear she's never going back. She's tired of taking care of people. Of losing them. Of losing herself. He doesn't blame her. So, they stay away and only get lost in each other.

It's enough, he thinks when he's lying in her arms, his cheek pressed against the bare skin of her breast. It's more than enough.

Carol is...everything.

* * *

The air grows warmer the farther south they get. It's mid-spring when they finally reach the coast. Daryl can smell the ocean before they see it. The salty air makes Carol's hair curl at the ends. It's long now, hanging nearly to her shoulders with soft, silver tendrils that frame her face. He likes to play with them and wrap them around his finger when they're lying together in whatever makeshift bed they've built out of cut grass. Now they dance against her freckled cheeks in the easterly wind.

The roaring sound of the surf rolling in begins to grow louder the closer they get. In his excitement, Daryl picks up the pace until he's nearly sprinting.

And finally, they make it. Their amazement stops them in their tracks.

At the crest of the hill, he gets his first view. It's vast. An endless blue so profound it reminds him of the love he's seen shimmering in Carol's eyes. He squeezes her hand to let her know: she's his horizon. Partners for life.

His eyes are as big as saucers as they stand there under the azure sky. Carol watches as he takes it all in with an awestruck, boyish grin. "Race you?" she teases, and they both fling themselves down the embankment, shedding their gear as they go.

Freed from their burden, they are weightless, soaring across the golden sand, rosy-cheeked from the cool breeze. Their lips lift naturally towards the bright sun until they are both smiling and shouting with joy at the waves crashing ashore. They stumble gracelessly on the beach. Unacquainted with running in the sand, he falls to hands and knees, laughing uncontrollably at the absurd levity of it all. He feels so young. She stops beside him to pull him to his feet again, and holding hands, they bound towards the waves together, stopping at the water's edge to stare at the great blue beyond.

They breathe in the open view, feeling it expand within them, breaking up the hardened residue of grief, clearing away their doubts, making space for something new. And for the first time for both of them, it feels like anything is truly possible.

"Bet there's a lot o' fish out there," he finally says when his breath returns.

"You gonna catch them all?" she inquires teasingly, her chest heaving as she starts to undress.

Letting out a low growl, he follows her lead, pulling off his boots. "Maybe jus' the one," he says, chasing her into the water.

She splashes water at him as she runs, the tide folding over them playfully. Catching her, he pulls her tight against him and nibbles on her neck as she shrieks with laughter. His lips linger against her warm skin where her pulse beats out a zesty rhythm he savors. She tastes of salty seawater. And life.


End file.
